Some action shots of my cat, Neo Haidar, working towards getting his (c)law degree. He's so busy, he didn't have time to sit for a proper photo!

Legacy means everything to me. Not in the sense that I would feel unfulfilled if my name and life story were not passed down to my children, grandchildren, and so on, but that everything I am and do is part of a legacy. Essentially, my legacy is evidence that I am alive, and after I die, evidence that I have lived. As "legacy" is a term of art, so too are "life" and "death". There is the life that is tangible, that is, the life I experience as a person. This life will end with a tangible death, and my body will return to the soil. Then, there is life in a more nontraditional sense, which is most succinctly explained as life being a synonym for existence. I existed long before I was born. The atoms that make up my body have existed as long as our universe has, if not longer. Those same atoms formed the first generation of stars after the big bang, and, eventually, will form the last. I like to think that my legacy encompasses this nontraditional view of life. This, of course, does not come at the expense of the legacy I create as a person. My first breath, first step, first word, and every breath, step, and word thereafter are a part of my legacy. My gray hairs, stretch marks, and smile lines, the tears and blood I've shed, the happiness I've created, and the hurt I've caused are a part of my legacy as well. I'm not afraid of being forgotten, in fact, I think that's a silly thing to be afraid of. We are all immortal, in a sense, and are remembered through the very fabric of our existence. This way of thinking can be overwhelming, but I find comfort in it as well. To me, it means that life is not a competition for recognition, and death is not the deadline. In billions of years, when the sun swallows the Earth whole, whether we appeared in a chapter of a high school history book, were mentioned in a conversation among our great-grandchildren, or won a scholarship on bold.org (which would still be nice, by the way!) won't be determinative of anything. Every legacy is valuable, and the fear of being forgotten, or an insatiable hunger for notoriety, should not lead us to sacrifice our pursuit of happiness. Our legacies should not be regarded as wholly individual, either. We have a collective legacy as people, and as long as there are people, we should work to leave a positive legacy for them, so they can pursue their own happiness too. When my tangible life ends, I want to be confident that I genuinely pursued my own happiness, that I made a positive impact on the people around me, and that I did my part to create a better future for generations to come. The death of my body is not the end of my existence, just a different state of being, like a crashing wave that finally settles into the stillness of the ocean from whence it came.

After a few years of being prescribed various antidepressants with little improvement, my therapist suggested I might have ADHD. I brought it up to my psychiatrist at my next appointment. If you'd seen her reaction, you would've thought I told her I was being investigated for murder. Despite what she might have thought, I had no intention of opening up an under-the-table Adderall pharmacy or taking 10 pills and seeing if I could beat Usain Bolt's 100m sprint record. I just needed help focusing to reach my potential. I made it through college as a procrastinator, never being satisfied with what I turned in. After going through the process, I was diagnosed with ADHD. So far, my experience with stimulant medication has been great. I take them alongside my usual antidepressants, and I find that I have A LOT more energy to put towards things I need, and want, to do. However, the suspicion I was met with did not end with my diagnosis. It continues every time I need a refill and it comes from both my pharmacist and my insurance. ADHD medication is regarded as a controlled substance, to access it I need a new prescription every month. People around me express their concerns as well. My immigrant family had a hard time understanding ADHD. It isn't hard to see why I wasn't diagnosed earlier, as much as I wish I was. Not only that, but girls tend to be underdiagnosed with ADHD. ADHD doesn't go away with age either. In fact, it is present from birth and as heritable as hair color. Since my ADHD isn't going away, I want to help counter harmful misconceptions about it, especially with regards to seeking medication. Anyone can have it, not just young white boys. I make it a point to engage with the people around me and encourage them to seek help if they are experiencing poor mental health. Despite being socially anxious, I am vocal about my experience with ADHD as an Arab woman. I want to be the resource for others that I wish I had.